


Alone

by BuddyTheMeanPeacock



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, darker interpretation of Byleth, just the one in this case, the other deer make an appearance but too short to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddyTheMeanPeacock/pseuds/BuddyTheMeanPeacock
Summary: A life to live exempt from the river of time is a lonely one. Byleth knows of one person they are willing to take with them to live such a life.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Please be mindful of the manipulation tag! It's there for a reason!
> 
> Note: This is just one interpretation of the My Unit character, not anything I actually think is set in stone or anything! Just want to be clear on that

They sit, alone, in their private chambers within the monastery, one of few places they’ve found they can call a consistent home. The war was over, and everyone was celebrating. Talk of who will go where and with who are rampant among their students. 

Hilda talks with her usual excitement about how she and Marianne will go to her territory and finally relax. Ignatz and Raphael plan on helping the former with their artistic pursuits and the latter’s dream of knighthood with perhaps a little too much ignorance on one’s feelings for the other. Lorenz has taken Lysithea’s hand with a fervent promise that he will find a cure for her condition, and Lysithea accepts with a happy, if resigned, smile. Even Leonie has found herself a partner in Shamir, not so romantic as the others but one nonetheless to spend her days with.

Byleth is happy for them. Glad that their students have all found someone to live their lives with.

But under happiness lies something acidic, eating away at the smile they wish to give their beloved students. A revelation, given to them in private by the ever patient Seteth and his oh so sweet Flayn - one that turns such wholesome talk of union that surrounds them into poisoned stabs into their unbeating heart.

They wonder; when was it? When exactly had they lost the ability to have such a bond with others without fear and apprehension rotting its roots? Was it when Rhea placed the creststone of a long dead god within their chest? Was it when the last dredges of that god’s power merged with them in full? Or were they always cursed to simply outlive those they love, an oak forced to watch its lovely grounded flowers wilt as it stands tall and firm?

They wonder, and then stop. The when does not matter. Knowing will change nothing now.

Seteth and Flayn may be able to withstand such a life, knowing they have the other to always be with them. But to know that they will not have that privilege, that they will have to withstand such isolation by themselves - their blood runs cold with a fear so deep as to freeze Ailiel, giving them torturous dreams of them standing _alone, alone, alone._

Byleth looks down at the teacups in front of them, steaming with a fresh brew of a long-familiar blend. The small spoon, pristine and ready for its one use. The knife, sharpened as to cut a falling hair in half, to the side of them. Their hand, bare of its ever-present glove, still.

Byleth takes the knife. One clean motion, the cut is made. Blood as red as any other, so unassuming, so deceptive, pools in their palm. Leaks out into the small, delicate cups. They take the spoon, and stir; the tea turned thick with its new crimson tint, but it mattered not.

He was going to leave soon. He would never pass up tea with his beloved Teach. His fellow outsider. He would understand, so used to loneliness he was. 

In truth, they knew they were saving their precious little deer from a fate similar to theirs, if shorter lived. So yes, he would understand.

They hear a knock on their door. They put back on their glove. The door opens, revealing a rare dazzling smile, reserved just for them, and no one else, and they think _Yes, he will understand_.

“I’ve tried something new with the tea this time,” they say as he sits across from them, in his usual seat.

“Ohhh, trying something new on my last day here? How bold, Teach! I’m honored.”

\---

_He takes a sip of the Almyran Pine._

_Immediately, he wants to spit it back out. ‘Something new,’ oh, was this new alright…_

_right?_

_There was something about the taste that, while disgusting, was… almost familiar? Distinct, definitely. If he were with anyone else, he’d say that it tasted almost like whenever he had gotten blood in his mouth, if at the same time he happened to be drinking tea, maybe._

_But this was Teach, and their tea looked just as weird as his. At worst this was probably some prank, and he was never one to back down from a joke, especially one as rare as one from Teach._

_He swallows the mouthful, and he feels a_ kick _._

_Energy surged through him, and he held back the violent shake that wanted to run through him down to a twitching shiver that nearly made him drop his cup._

_He exhaled, and looked at Byleth. As expected, their eyes held in them a small hint of satisfaction at his display._

_He chuckled. “Ha ha, very funny. Care to tell me what you put in this?”_

_They shook their head no, and he sighed._

_The rest of their time together was spent as nicely as it could have been, with a humorous start to it like that. But he had to end it soon, much as he didn’t want to, as he had to start his packing for Almyra._

_“I’ll be gone a while, sure, but don’t you worry,” he assured them, his signature wink accompanying his smile, “I’ll be back before you know it.”_

_They looked at him, and smiled back._

_“I know.”_

_\---_

Hilda was the last of the deer to start showing her age - predictably, with how adamantly she took care of her body. She wrote to Byleth in a letter with suspicious circular wet spots that her back popped most uncomfortably when she tried to pick something up she _swears_ was light as a feather to her just the day before. Another letter was packaged with it, from a much calmer Marianne, detailing her apologies that they were bothered by such complaints from her wife.

How twenty years pass by so quickly, when you can’t feel them touch you.

Of them all, Hilda, while dealing with such caresses the worst, has managed to avoid many more of them than her fellow deer. Last they saw of her and Marianne it was clear she did not hold back in her self-care even as her hair was not quite so vibrant to the trained or familiar eye, or her eyes quite as vivid, though still sharp regardless. 

Marianne, in turn, would be second, were this a contest. She would of course be unable to escape her wife’s insistence to better care for herself, and the results of such stubbornness was an aged beauty that could now look as wise as she always was. Not so fervent in taking care to look young such as her beloved she therefore has endearing wrinkles and laugh-lines adorning her face, telling a story of a happiness Byleth had feared would not be achieved for the once melancholy girl.

Of course, Lorenz was not too far behind the both of them, though for him he could not take as much time as he might have otherwise liked to look after himself, dedicated to his search for his wife’s cure as he was. It was such a relief to everyone that such a search was not in vain; not too long ago, in Morfis, there they found something that would help elongate Lysithea’s short life. Last they saw of the two of them they were happy, and looking forward to spending so many more days with each other than one could have ever hoped for.

Ignatz was perhaps the most drastic of the changes time had to offer. His hair was longer, far longer than Byleth thought was possible for the artist, and he had taken to thicker glasses than Byleth remembered him having. Raphael, best friend turned husband, could have been the cause for the former, with how he proclaimed with a familiar boisterousness that time has yet to change how handsome his Ignatz was. They were glad that the man had finally seemed to have gotten Igantz out of his shell in full.

If there had to be a last, it’d be Leonie and Shamir, though in fairness it was hard to care much for one’s appearance when always on the road looking for jobs and contracts. To compensate they were certainly the most physically fit, the others while not slacking in their training even after all these years still incomparable to the constant work ethic of the two mercenaries. Shamir may have some more gray to her hair and creases to her face, same as Leonie, but let it not be said that they have lost their spry- at least, for now.

All of their deer, all so grown up, passing them by so quickly. It saddens them.

Byleth looks to the end of Hilda’s letter, her last complaint scribbled in her otherwise elegant script, and smiles, the reassurance always pleasant.

 _‘How come_ _I_ _have to get older but Claude doesn’t Professor?? He’s cheating! I look at him and it’s like the war never ended, and he won’t even tell me his secret even though I’m becoming an old crony! You have to make him tell me, please??’_

_\---_

_He thought maybe he was just lucky._

_Nader was pushing fifty during the war and had barely looked a day over thirty, and Judith may have had a few tells here and there but otherwise he never would have guessed she was about his mentor’s age. Some people just aged slower than others; he was just one of them._

_He was… an extreme example of it, was all. What other explanation was there?_

_He didn’t feel a day over twenty-something, really. Didn’t_ look _a day over twenty-something. It was great, really, since that meant he had all the energy in the world to fight his way to his father’s throne, to be able to talk his way through the ruthless Almyran court to put forth the peace treaties and trade routes he’d been working on and revising and re-reading day after day after day, until they were_ finally _agreed on, or at least the first versions of them._

_That was a triumphant day. It was ten years ago._

_He was now forty-four. Forty-four, like his friends of Fodlan - for the most part, give or take a few years. None were as lucky as him when it came to just how youthful he looks - he chuckled at the memory, how indignant Hilda was when she demanded he tell her what his “secret” was. For once, he had none._

_He was just lucky._

_\---_

Ten years later, Lysithea and Lorenz passed away.

The news of them both passing shocked many, even Byleth, but it seemed they were both hiding an illness the two of them contracted in some unknown time. Incurable, healers had said upon finding them, a tragedy that nothing could stop, even the finest of Morfis. A tragedy, it seemed, they wished to hide from their friends until their last breaths left them.

They took a glance around the gathering in front of them, all mournful for both the war heros and the beloved friends. As Archbishop it was their duty to send their spirits off to rest in peace, one they would never deny even during the increasingly secular air of the unified Fodlan. 

Quiet, somber tears. Echoing, quaking sobs. Facsimiles of stoic peace, genuine cries of heartbreak. 

The two of them were so loved. Byleth looks again through the crowd, spotting the couplings of deer each expressing their sadness for their lost friends. The only solace, perhaps, is that the two of them died together, never knowing what it meant to be alone. That their friends, too, have found someone to spend their lives, and their deaths, with.

Byleth looks to the back of the crowd, just outside of it. Sees a deer. Strong, Full of youth.

They allow the peace in their chest to replace the smile that wishes to spread their lips.

Yes. _All_ of the two beloveds’ friends have found someone.

It was only a matter of time.

\---

_He had come to the funeral, because of course he would._

_Lorenz and Lysithea were… gone. Two of the loudest, outspoken people he knew, now quiet, forever. Having the news sent to him, it… they weren’t immortal. Everyone he knew, everyone he loved, they could just… die. He thought he realized that, had_ been _realized that - the war, it had taken so many people that he would have readily called friends. He thought he… knew that, but…_

 _But they weren’t at war anymore, and they still died. Nader, and Judith, they… maybe he’s always prepared for_ them _. They were so much older than he was, been through so much more, and their passings… tragic. It was among the few times he’d ever let himself shed tears._

 _But they… he hadn’t prepared for_ them _to pass so soon. Lorenz was just a few months older. Lysithea, a few years_ younger _. It was so hard to think that they could just… die._

_Until he saw them._

_They were both nearly his age. They hadn’t looked like they were. None of his friends did. They all looked… older. Like Judith, the years being kind but noticeable. A few tells here and there._

_He took to going to the back, unable to make himself leave but he… couldn’t be near them. Any of them. Because any of them could just die, and he could receive another letter written by an aged hand to be opened by his deft fingers, and they could_ die _, and he would- he would just_ not _._

_He would stay the same._

_Alone. Again. All alone._

_He was scared. He didn’t want to be alone. Not after seeing what it was like, having people close. Not after belonging, after so long off to the side._

_He forced down the noise that begged to leave his chest._

_\---_

Remire Village recovered splendidly.

It had taken many, many years to bring back to life the dying village. Have its soil fertile, its settlements rebuilt, its people stable. Byleth had made sure that it was among the first to be focused on after the war, and those efforts paid off tremendously. Now the once destroyed village is thriving, teeming with activity as the farmland brimmed with more crops than the villagers knew what to do with, and trade routes allowed for them to make a profit unlike they’ve ever seen before.

Firm stone buildings replaced the thatching that was there before, coupling with some nice stone pathways to give the village a slightly more grand look to it, though it still kept the homely nature of it all through the residents. They walked past the multitude of people waving at them hello, asking them how their day was, and do they need anything? It’s no problem at all.

Polite. Hospitable. Especially so, given that they were a mere stranger, another passing villager admiring the nice stone buildings and pathways. To think, it was only around seventy years ago that everything - every _one -_ was set ablaze in an act of boundless cruelty.

Byleth doesn’t like to think about that. Luckily, they soon see who they were looking for, sitting by himself in the teahouse that was built a couple decades ago.

They soon join him, sitting across the table. He looks up, and smiles that smile that was always just for them.

“It’s certainly been a while, hasn’t it my friend?” 

They know they don’t look a day over twenty-something. They smile. 

Neither does Claude.

\---

_Maybe they know._

_\---_

“It has,” they say. 

They raise their hand to order. Wait patiently for the young man to come over. “Do you have Almyran Pine?”

“Oh, yes! We’ll have it for you right away!” Enthusiastically he turns to Claude. “And you, sir?”

He nods towards them. “I’ll have the same.”

“Alright! Wait right here!”

Byleth looks back at Claude as the young man leaves. His shoulders sag, a little, as he returns their gaze. “Man, how everything changes, huh?”

There was a weight to his words.

“Not everything,” they say.

\---

_They have to know. They have to know._

_They have to._

_\---_

They notice him swallow. 

“Yeah. Not everything.”

He takes a breath.

“H-hey, Teach? Do you know…”

\---

_Do you know why I can’t look at my reflection without wanting to scream?_

_Do you know why I can’t stay in Almyra without being seen as a freak of nature,_ again _?_

_Do you know why all of my friends died as I stayed healthy and young?_

_Do you know why I’m alone?_

_\---_

“...what happened to me?”

He whispers the question, the words trembling as they leave plump lips, his bright verdant gaze filled with a bone-deep fear.

He wants to know, because of course he does, curious as his mind ever was to solve mysteries.

They take his hand, soft as their own, and give a soft squeeze.

“I don’t,” they say.

\---

_No. No, no no no._

_They can’t not know. They_ have _to know._

_\---_

Claude needs to stop wondering. The what does not matter. Knowing will change nothing now.

“I’m sorry, Claude. I don’t know what happened.”

\---

_But Teach- Teach wouldn’t…_

_\---_

They placed their other hand on top of Claude’s. 

“But you’re not alone.”

His eyes are wet and wide as he stares at them. There’s a spark in them. 

They smile.

“I’m not your Teach anymore, Claude. I’m Byleth. Will you say that for me?”

Claude... tries on a smile, chokes out a laugh. His hand tightens around theirs. 

“Yeah… I can,” he breathes out, just for them to hear. “I can do that… Byleth.”

Byleth lets out a small, decades old breath.

Finally. 

They weren’t alone.

**Author's Note:**

> A far more selfish and morally bankrupt Byleth that allows themselves to do very dubious things to escape from a lifetime of loneliness. Claude, who's told them of a childhood spent in loneliness and whom they know trusts them completely, is unfortunately perfect for Byleth to want spend eternity with :/
> 
> The pairings shown here are based off of my first playthrough of the game


End file.
